Priceless
by Odyssion
Summary: Soubi draws, Ritsuka ponders, and they both learn a little more about each other. [Soubi x Ritsuka]


**Priceless**

_Disclaimer:_ Loveless does not belong to me, and this story is written for entertainment only.

_Author's Notes:_ So I just finished watching Loveless the anime, after reading to volume 4 in the manga. The theme songs are rather poignant, and while the series itself was good (the voice acting is superb), I feel a little conned because the anime basically recounted all that I'd already read, and ended so inconclusively. Regardless, I'm in a very "Loveless" kind of mood, so this is the manifestation of that.

* * *

When Soubi is away for long periods of time, Ritsuka doesn't like to admit to himself that the fluttering of butterflies in his stomach is actually due to anxiety. It's not only that he worries for Soubi's safety; when he doesn't see Soubi periodically, he is sometimes afraid that Soubi is no longer interested in him, or worse yet, that Soubi doesn't remember him anymore. He is also never convinced when Soubi tells him that he has been busy with projects. Ritsuka has heard enough lies from Soubi to take anything at face value anymore.

In an attempt to rid himself of these awful thoughts, Ritsuka has decided to find some conclusive evidence.

"Soubi."

It is a sunny Saturday afternoon, and they are enjoying a walk down by the riverbank.

"Hmm?"

"Soubi… I want to see your art."

The older man had been prepared to be rebuked or perhaps interrogated by his young master, judging from the seriousness of his tone. The quaintness of this request makes him smile.

"I'll show you my art..." Soubi says, leaning down to whisper into Ritsuka's ear, "if you let me sketch you."

The boy flushes a bright shade of red and unconsciously draws back. "S-Sketch me?"

"Yes."

"But…" Ritsuka is at a loss. "I've never modeled before…"

"You don't have to do anything, Ritsuka. Just sit and let me look at you."

Soubi smiles in that disarming way of his and Ritsuka wonders, not for the first time, what he has gotten himself into.

-----

Soubi flicks on the light to the storage room and Ritsuka's eyes widen in surprise. Although he had been expecting several pieces of work (for all the time Soubi spent, there had to be a few), but the dozens of canvasses lining the walls were drastically shocking.

"Soubi…" His gaze wanders about the room, drinking in the colours. "Are these all yours?"

"A few are Kio's," the man answers, standing complacent at the door with his arms across his chest.

Ritsuka is already exploring, fingers leading but never touching the paint. "There are so many."

Soubi shrugs nonchalantly. "I paint whenever the mood strikes. I can also sell them to make some extra money."

"Sell them?" Ritsuka has stopped in front of a depiction of a broken bridge at sunset. The soft, vibrant background is a stark contrast to the dark, sharp foreground of destruction and Ritsuka thinks he can feel Soubi's pain reverberating through his chest. To sell such beauty, such expression, is to him a surrender of the soul.

Soubi has come up behind him a put a hand on his shoulder. "Do you like it?"

"Yes," Ritsuka whispers. "It's beautiful. How can you sell them so easily?"

"They're simply expressions, Ritsuka," Soubi says by way of explanation. "Like the emotions that cross our faces, they don't last forever. There's no reason to hold on to them."

Ritsuka listens in silence, and Soubi is sure he is angry again.

"If you want it, it's yours."

"Really?" Ritsuka turns around to face Soubi, who is smiling gently. "Would that… be okay?"

"Why not?" Soubi answers. "Although that one is a little sad, don't you think? This one suits you much better, Ritsuka."

Soubi has pulled out a canvas of green and grey, and Ritsuka's eyes widen. "That's—"

"Your Iriomote mountain cat."

-----

Soubi places a stool in the center of the room, and Ritsuka sits hesitantly on its edge as the blond man prepares his instruments.

"Now sit still," Soubi says, but Ritsuka finds this easier said than done. Soubi's eyes are focused as charcoal meets paper, and the scratch-scratching from the movement of Soubi's hand is the only sound in the room.

When Ritsuka wonders what the final product will look like, the vividness of Soubi's artwork returns to him and he wonders, not for the first time, why Soubi has such an affiliation for pain. In the days immediately after Seimei's death, he had been in the depths of despair, wondering, hoping, wishing that soon he would die too so that he would be with his brother again. On a day when his mother is particularly violent and the cut on his cheek keeps bleeding, Ritsuka is curious as to whether or not it will never stop and get infected and kill him. In a fit of desperation, he had returned to the kitchen half an hour later to rummage through the kitchen drawers and found a kitchen knife that he carried back with him to his room. It is a beautiful madness. His hands are shaking as he pulls up the sleeve of his sweater and places the edge of the blade on the blue-greenness of his vein. He would only need a quick slit, one long drag from the wrist up.

As he forces himself to exert pressure, tears well in the back of his eyes and his hands tremble so violently that the knife falls from his hand with a loud clank onto the floorboards. His wrist is unmarred. Ritsuka doubles over and pukes tears and blood onto the floor because he cannot do it, knows he cannot do it but wants to so, so badly. He cannot inflict pain, no matter how momentary, to save himself – and this is a weakness and strength that he despises so, so much.

Is Soubi weak or strong, he wonders, to love such a monster as pain?

"Ritsuka?" He doesn't know how long he's been out of it, but there is only silence as Soubi stares determinedly at him.

"Oh, sorry," Ritsuka apologizes quickly, realizing he has slouched out of his original position considerably. "Did I mess it up?"

"No, not at all," Soubi smiles and beckons him over. When Ritsuka gets close enough, he sees a large smudge of black on Soubi's cheek and instinctively reaches up to rub it off. Soubi looks questioningly at Ritsuka for this apparent act of affection, and the boy finally realizes how suggestive his action must have seemed.

Ritsuka flushes red. "You had charcoal on your cheek…" He moves to take his hand away but Soubi has caught him at the wrist, pulling his hand to his lips.

"Thank you."

"Umm…" To distract himself, Ritsuka glances over at the completed picture, and is surprised at how lifelike it seems. "Wait—Soubi, why don't I have any ears?!"

Soubi looks up from his ministrations long enough to smile. "I thought it would be a more appropriate representation after today."

"A more—just what is that supposed to mean?!" Ritsuka's face is burning. He pulls his hand away. "I want you to draw in some ears right now!"

Soubi merely looks vaguely amused. "Is that an order?"

"Yes!"

"As you wish, master."

-----

When Soubi is waiting at the school gates on Monday afternoon, Yuiko greets him enthusiastically but is a little disappointed when Soubi confesses that he has come to take Ritsuka away from her today.

"Oh," she says, slightly deflated. "That's okay. Have fun, then!" She waves goodbye to both of them and rushes off in the other direction.

"I never agreed to go," Ritsuka says somewhat grumpily, but follows Soubi anyway. "What's so important?"

"There's something I want to show you," Soubi declares quietly, and Ritsuka is irritated when Soubi chuckles at his apparent interest.

He is surprised to be returning to Soubi's place so soon after visiting it only days before.

"Here," Soubi says, and leads him into his room. There on an easel in the middle of the space is a large canvas with Ritsuka on it, painted in shades of black and blue.

"Oh." Soubi's talent is obvious and the piece is magnificent, but it fills Ritsuka with a sense of dread – as if Soubi has taken his soul and commoditized it somehow.

As if sensing his thoughts, Soubi tugs on his arm and pulls him into a tight embrace.

"Don't worry, Ritsuka," he says gently. "This one I would never sell."

Ritsuka's voice is small and muffled by Soubi's jacket. "You wouldn't?"

"No." Soubi brings a hand to Ritsuka's cheek and touches it softly. "This one is priceless."

Ritsuka's fingers grasp firmly onto the fabric of Soubi's shirt as their lips meet, and he thinks he will enjoy the comforting warmth for just a second longer before he breaks the contact and chastises Soubi for being such an idiot again.

* * *

**End**


End file.
